Chupacabra Hunting for Dummies (And Other Strange Tales)
by Wonka999
Summary: America decides to visit his adopted sister Puerto Rico, hoping to enjoy a pleasant holiday on a tropical island (and not have to pay for a hotel.) Unfortunately, she's insane. And enlists his aid in catching the chupacabra that supposedly haunts her garden. Live vicariously through their wacky shenanigans as they hunt cryptids, fight cleaning Daleks, and cause mass property damage
1. A Messy Arrival

**Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia, sadly enough. If I did, I'd be wallowing around in massive piles of money. Also, I'd be a man. But…money…! Anyway, just figured I'd give a hitherto uncreated character with potential for odd stories a chance; this version of Puerto Rico is the monster to my Frankenstein, only without the whole 'being made out of the clumsily stitched-together parts of corpses' bit. Mostly. **

Sand. Sun. Piña coladas. Bioluminescent bays. Those were some of Puerto Rico's main attractions, which was why Alfred F. Jones had booked a flight to visit his adoptive sister/ unincorporated territory. Seriously, what could be better than great beaches filled with bikini-clad babes and glowing water? He was so busy wondering if diving into a bioluminescent bay would give him a permanent blue colour that would allow him to glow in the dark that he didn't even notice that Kita had been standing behind him for the past fifteen minutes chucking cheesy puffs at the back of his head while he stood in the centre of the crowded airport, clutching his luggage and blocking everyone's path.

It was only when the twenty-third cheesy puff struck the back of his head did Alfred turn around to see the blank-faced teen standing behind him, a half-empty bag of Wotsits clutched in her hand.

Short and curvy with blue-black hair, skin that looked like she never saw the sun (a surprising feat, considering that she lived on a tropical freaking island), Kita looked rather like a porcelain doll. The sort that stood on a mantelpiece, staring into your soul with its unblinking glass gaze and which you speculated might come to life during the night in order to rummage around in your cutlery drawer, specifically for knives. Maybe forks if your death was going to be especially prolonged and painful.

Undeterred by her lack of response, his face split into a wide grin and he grabbed the small girl up in a one-armed hug. "How're you doing, Kita?" Alfred said cheerily.

"As well as can be expected," Kita replied, her voice barely audible over the background noise and language soup of the crowded terminal. She made no motion to return the hug, keeping her arms dangling limply at her sides. Looking down, Alfred saw her eyes rolling around in their sockets as she attempted to take in everything at once. At one point, Kita's eyes actually rolled up into the back of her head, yellow irises disappearing to show only the sclera. Frowning, he pushed her away from him slightly, noticing the bloodshot appearance of her eyes and the dark circles beneath them.

"Okay," Alfred said. "Either you've been smoking some really good shit or you haven't been sleeping…Again." He flicked Kita, who was staring up at the ceiling as though it were the pinnacle of humanity's engineering, in the centre of her forehead, causing her to jerk her head down so quickly that he could hear her vertebra click into place. "Well, which is it? Weed or insomnia?" He repeated.

Kita's response was to look dazedly at him before her eyes widened in horrified realisation and she leaped back with a scream, knocking over a man wearing a Hawaiian shirt and khaki short pants and sending him onto the baggage carousel. No one claimed him and he was promptly sent to the lost property area by several disgruntled airline workers.

Meanwhile, Kita was once again staring vacantly into some yawning abyss that only she could see. From the look on her face, there must have been some pretty wicked things floating around in there. Probably teddy bears…with their heads ripped off and centipedes crawling out of the gaping neck holes, if her last explanation of her mind's default settings were anything to go by.

Rolling his eyes, Alfred snapped his fingers in front of her face several times; all that happened was that Kita's eyes once again bulged out of their sockets before she launched into another screaming fit and then promptly fell back into her cloudy-eyed fugue. Shaking his head, Alfred shrugged and ambled over towards a nearby Cinnabon stall. Perhaps the time spent procuring some delicious sugar-laden treats would be enough for Kita to wake up from her semi-comatose state? (All right, that was a lie; Alfred knew that she wouldn't wake up, he just really wanted some cinnamon buns coated in delicious sticky icing. Mm, icing…

When he returned fifteen minutes later, clutching six packs of Minibites and a mochalatta chill, she was, as he'd expected, still standing there, half-asleep. Alfred looked from Kita to the drink in his hand and back to Kita before stepping lightly on her foot, causing her mouth to creak open in a manner similar to a trash bin. Tilting her head back, he poured the caffeinated beverage down her throat and pinched her nostrils shut so that she had no other option but to swallow it. The results were instantaneous.

The mixture of chocolate and coffee had barely slid down Kita's throat when her eyes shot open, glittering with what could only be described as caffeine-induced mania. Enlivened by the legal drug coursing through her system, she then proceeded to cock her head to the side and began babbling a rushed string of incoherent words that made her sound like an mp3 file sped up with Windows Media Player.

"OhhelloAlfredwhendidyougethereIhadnoideathatyouwe rearrivingtodayandsorryaboutmybeingsospacedoutI've beenupforthepastweeksearchingfortheChupacabraIthin kitsbeenrootingaroundinmytrashbinsormaybeit'sjusts traycatsormayberaccoonswaitnoIdon'thaveracoonsdoyo uthinkyoucanimportsome,they'resocutewiththeirlittl eburglarmasksandteensypeoplehandsanddidyouknowthat racoonsrotatetheirhindfeetsothatthey'refacingbackw ardswhentheyclimbdowntreesandyeah,I'vebeenhavingth isrecurringdreamwhereIseethreecreepilyrealisticbab ydollsinafireplaceandthey'regettingburntbytheflame ssoItakethemoutbutwhenIexaminethedollsinsteadofbei ngburntplastictheyhaveawfullookingthirddegreeburns alloverthemandthewoundsareallbloodyandoozingandthe nthebabydollshavetearsformingintheireyesbuttheycan 'tmakeanysoundsandit'ssosadandthenIhearthisreallyl oudscreambutnoneoftheirmouthsaremovingbutthescream ingdoesn'tstopandthenthedollsturntoashinmyarmsandI wakeupneauseausandwantingtothrowupandsothat'swhyI' vebeensearchingforthechupacabrainmybackyardbecause Idon'tlikethedream." Kita paused for a moment to hold her breath. "So, are you here to help me catch that pesky chupacabra?" She asked brightly.

Alfred stared blankly at her for a good long moment. "You know what," he said finally. "I'm just gonna use the tried-and-true method that Antonio suggested to me between his tears when you came to live with me, and just go along with your sleep-deprived schemes."

Kita clapped her hands together. "Hooray, chupacabra hunt!" She cried, and, grabbing his valise by the handle, ran out of the airport's exit, ducking around several nervous-looking passers-by who gave her a wide berth as she scrambled past them.

"I miss being the weird sibling," he said to himself as he watched a wide-eyed Kita terrify a heavily bearded man with an anecdote about how insects would "agitatedly scurry through the tangled network of his face brambles as he slept, clicking their mandibles in frustration and eventually seeking solitude in more navigable areas, such as down his throat and inside of his ear canals", causing him to flee in the opposite direction while shrieking something about purchasing a package of disposable razors and a can of Raid. Meanwhile, Kita continued to chase after the man, nearly knocking over several people as she continued to explain that the bugs might also choose to nest in his pubic hair before burrowing themselves in through his urinary meatus, thus clogging his urethra like a toilet and causing horrible seminal back-up.

"And then your testicles will EXPLODE. Explode like an EGG IN A MICROWAVE OVEN, but with more blood! And SEMEN!" Kita shouted, causing everyone in her vicinity to slowly back away.

"I have really got to get her some Lunesta," Alfred declared. "This whole not sleeping thing is really messing her up." He'd barely finished his sentence when Kita promptly curled up on the floor like a kitten and fell asleep just centimetres from the exit, letting out an odd mewling sound in place of snores. "Yeah, definitely Lunesta. Or maybe just a blunt object to the head, I dunno."

XXX

After several incidents involving Kita nearly driving them off the motorway and into a lake, crashing into a school bus laden with children and somehow sending it spinning off the road and into a fruit stand, which for some reason exploded as though it were a Pinto, narrowly avoiding running over an old woman pushing a trolley full of kitty litter across the street and finally culminating in them being pulled over by the police…For not having the blinkers on. Alfred could only face-palm as the police then proceeded to mistake Kita for a pre-adolescent due to her short height and the fact that the only parts of her that would give away her age weren't visible since she apparently decided that trolling the police was a brilliant idea and had only opened the window a tiny crack rather than rolling it all the way down. Eventually, however, the incident was remedied. By her stomping on the accelerator and speeding away at roughly a-hundred-and-fifty kilometres per hour before they could write out a ticket, leaving the police to shout impotent threats and wave their fists while they choked on the noxious cloud of exhaust gas that her tailpipe belched out as she and Alfred flew down the road, leaving a trail of destruction and flaming tyre tracks in their wake.

After that adventure, the two of them finally managed to pull up in front of Kita's house, which happened to the only one situated on the plot of land that it occupied. Looking over at the dark, dense foliage looming behind the house through the fog, Alfred felt a wave of apprehension roll over him as his mind was filled with images of hockey mask-wearing, machete-wielding serial killers wandering the forest in search of hapless tourists to disembowel before turning their scalps into lampshades and making godless love to their corpses.

_Yeah, I can definitely see a chupa-whatsis living around here_, he thought to himself. Turning to Kita, who was having a difficult time unbuckling her safety harness due to her current caffeine-powered state, he voiced the opinion that any other urban-dweller would have had when faced with such an eerie and isolated area: "How the hell do you live here?"

Finally freed from her safety harness, Kita nonchalantly pushed her door open, only to catch her foot on God-only-knew-what and fall facedown onto the grass. Pulling herself to her feet, she wiped the dew accumulated on her shirtfront while giving Alfred a look that clearly stated that she thought he was of the sort whose hobbies included licking windows and attempting masturbation with household appliances such as vacuum cleaners.

"One, I hate having neighbours; seriously, fuck that noise. Two, since there's no one else around for at least eight kilometres, I can do essentially anything without getting the police called on me for my less… savoury hobbies. And three, where the hell else would I be able to search for the chupacabra, ass jacket? No self-respecting, blood-hungry cryptid would live in the city! There aren't enough goats, for one thing, and the price of real estate is fucking mental." She shook her head, looking disgusted. "Two thousand a month for a flat the size of a walk-in closet…Kita muttered. "I'd sooner hire some random thug to skull-fuck the landlord for that same price they're asking for rent than pay that much for some shit flat you could spit from one end to the other in!" Her diatribe over, she turned her slightly twitching gaze on Alfred, who was pulling up the boot of her car in order to remove his luggage.

"So _that's _why you had that court summons last year," he said as he slammed the lid down. Alfred quirked his eyebrows at Kita, who had abandoned her ranting in order to chase around what appeared to be a small Asian mongoose that had previously been snoozing on her veranda while repeating the words "mon mon mon mon mon goose" over and over again.

Having finally the caught the creature, she ran up to Alfred while holding the sleepy-looking mongoose above her head like a furry little trophy. "All hail Mongoolord, divine emperor of Feliformia!" Kita declared. Smiling, she held the mongoose out towards Alfred, at which point it lost its placid expression in order to flail and screech like something possessed, baring its horrid, needle-like dentition and swiping at his face with its claws. He backed away whilst wondering if the red hue of its eyes was just a trick of the light.

_Wait a minute, the sky is overcast. _His eyes widened. _Oh shit balls, demon weasel! _

Kita, meanwhile, was still shoving her pet into Alfred's face, oblivious to the fact that it obviously wanted nothing more than to chew through his eyeballs before tearing his face off and wearing it like a maggot-riddled meat-mask. "You're not hailing!" She scolded.

"Get that thing away from me! It wants my soul!" Alfred shouted back as he ran towards her house in an attempt to escape the mad duo.

"Am I in a pair of knickers, because I'm seeing a giant pussy in front of me," the mongoose said in a rather haughty-sounding cut-glass accent, a fact which was rather hilarious given its choice of words. Extending a paw out in a manner that indicated that Alfred ought to be flattered that it deigned to bother doing so, it gave Alfred a salute before curling itself around Kita's neck and batting at the hair that she'd left to flow loose from the high pigtails tied near the top of her head. "The name is Reyes. Psicó Reyes," he introduced himself a la James Bond.

Alfred blinked. "Uh…Why do you have a mongoose as a pet? Aren't they, like, vectors for rabies and shit?"

Upon hearing the word pet, Psicó bristled and bared his teeth again. "I am not a _pet. _I am an animal companion. And I've had my rabies shot, you twat-sucking cum barge!"

Kita stroked his head with a finger. "Now, now, Psicó, don't listen to Alfred. He suffers from this disorder called diarrhoea of the mouth. It's very tragic. Now, what say you and I go inside and cook up some chicken for lunch?"

Psicó looked up at her. "Can I wear the tiny top hat and tails you made for me?" He asked hopefully.

Kita nodded. "Mm-hm. We can put on the miniature monocle, too, if you want."

Alfred could do little more than stare after them in confusion as they walked up the front steps and into the house discussing the benefits of silk versus cotton in the production of waistcoats before chalking it up to general eccentricity and following after them with his luggage.

"I can't believe that I always forget how weird Kita is after just a few months of…not…seeing her…He trailed off when he saw the aforementioned girl in the kitchen standing over a frozen chicken with a hair dryer while wearing a look of the utmost concentration on her face and Psicó, looking like a weasel version of the Monopoly Man, nudged the refrigerator door closed with his head before dragging a sack of onions towards her.

"Uhm," Alfred began slowly, "what are you doing?"

"Defrosting the chicken," Kita answered brightly, and switched the hair dryer's settings to high.

Alfred shrugged. "That's actually a pretty good idea," he admitted. Then he gestured towards his bag. "Where can I put this?" He asked.

"In the room on the second floor, three doors down to your left," Kita said over the noise of the hair dryer. "Oh, and don't worry about the knife underneath your pillow," she added. "I keep one underneath every pillow in the house."

Once again, all Alfred could do was stare at her in bewilderment. "_Why _do you keep knives there?" He finally asked.

"In case of home invasion, obviously," Kita said. At that moment, the hair dryer died with a sad little sputter and a series of sparks that just missed setting Alfred's eyebrows on fire. "Curse you and your poor quality products, Yao!" She shouted, throwing the hair dryer out of the thankfully open kitchen window.

If she had neighbours, the rules of comedy would have demanded that one of them be outside in the path of the incoming hair dryer in order to shout "my eye", or some variation thereof. Kita didn't have any neighbours, however, so nothing of the sort happened. Alfred couldn't help but feel a bit disappointed; God knew how many people he'd inadvertently injured by throwing so much as a penny back in New York.

While Alfred was busy reminiscing about life back in the Big Apple and denouncing Kita's home as a rapist/murderers/cultists/murderous rapist cultist's dream locality, Kita had taken the opportunity to draw a moustache on his face with a Sharpie procured from the pocket of her pullover. Alfred didn't even notice until she held a spoon up towards his face in order for him to see his reflection.

"I mean, I'm too awesome to be killed by a cloak-wearing weirdo with a clown fetish and aspirations of having sex with an M-80 stuck up his ass while he reads me passages from a satanic bible and when did I grow a moustache?" Alfred asked.

"While you were talking to yourself," Kita said with a completely straight face. "Much in the same way that carbon dioxide exhaled by humans during speech fosters plant growth; it does the same with the hair follicles. Why, there's been ground-breaking research in the field of hair regrowth for male-pattern baldness in which scientists continuously breathe onto a balding man's scalp for two hours. After a month of bi-weekly sessions, participants in the study noticed a marked increase in hair growth. It's quite amazing, really."

"Wow, that's really-Wait, are you fucking with me?" Alfred asked, narrowing his eyes at her.

Kita nodded. "Yes. I'm sorry." Silence reigned for several minutes, broken only by the sudden re-emergence of Psicó from inside of the icebox, holding a bottle of vodka in his mouth.

"Anyone care for a foray into blissful intoxication and subsequent ill-advised shenanigans possibly involving awkward sexual encounters?" He asked as he balanced the bottle upright with his tail before leaping onto the counter.

Alfred ran a hand through his hair, throwing a confused look at Kita. "Translation?"

"Do you want to get shitfaced?" Kita summarised.

At that, Alfred pumped his fist in the air, all thoughts of possible rapist murder cults lurking in the woods forgotten at the prospect of getting sloshed. "Hells yeah! Booze is my middle name!" He declared.

Kita blinked. "I thought it was Fucking?"

"Speaking of which," Psicó said as he read the print on the back of the bottle's label. "This comes with a warning. Just thought you would like to know."

"What's it say?" Alfred asked.

Clearing his throat, Psicó began to read the tiny print, squinting as he did so. "Warning: The contents of this bottle may cause you to get naked, get religious, and/or get arrested. Use in moderation." He turned his head towards Kita. "You might want to have some condoms on hand."

Alfred recoiled in disgust even as Kita's eye began to violently tick. "Dude, we're like, related, sorta!" Alfred shouted feeling slightly nauseated at the thought.

"Just the thought of Alfred naked caused my mons pubis to stretch up and seal my major orifices closed," Kita added.

Psicó looked strangely at them. If he had eyebrows, he would have raised them, but he didn't, a fact which saddened him on occasions such as these, which warranted a good dose of eyebrow rising. "All right," he said. "I actually meant for myself. There's a very lovely lady mongoose I've been seeing for a while and while I intensely enjoy drunken frenzied love-making, I certainly do not want to accidentally wind up with a litter that I'll ultimately wind up having to dole out large amounts of child support for after a nasty custody battle which I'll be doomed to lose."

Alfred looked tiredly at Kita. "Put that in non-hauteur for me, please," he sighed.

Kita slid up onto the counter. "Psicó is going to get his bone on tonight and needs little mongoose-sized condoms so that he won't get his girlfriend pregnant. Also, he likes sloppy drunk sex, apparently." She threw Psicó a stern look. "Speaking of your liking of intoxicated one-night stands, Mister, I hope you're being careful at all times. If not, well, you'll know where you contracted leptospirosis from."

Psicó rolled his beady eyes. "Yes, _mother_," he said sarcastically.

Alfred pulled up one of the chairs at the kitchen table and threw himself onto it. "Are you two seriously having a stereotypical parent-teenager interaction about sex?" He demanded.

"Yes," Kita and Psicó said at the same time.

"Talking to a mongoose about STIs," Alfred muttered. He held his hand out. "Yeah, I need a drink."

Kita threw the bottle of vodka at him. "Try and keep your trousers on," she advised when he caught it. "No one needs to see the oversized clitoris that passes for your penis except for the doctors studying it. And maybe Arthur when he's in need of a laugh."

"Ha, ha," Alfred said dryly before knocking back a large swig of the vodka. After the burning in his throat had ebbed down to a mild ache, he plunked the bottle down onto the table. "Keep being such a snarky little dick waffle and I'll stick a frog in your bed while you sleep again."

Kita yawned. "Frogs? How passé. If you really want to freak someone out, you stick a still-beating sheep's heart on a hook hanging over their head before waking them up while dressed as a clown wearing hooker boots and a pork pie hat and holding a dagger or nothing. Maybe make it a banana for humour's sake. Or a…dildo, that'd be _really _freaky. I don't know. Give that vodka over here."

Alfred gulped down another swig before passing the bottle over to her. "I'm starting to think something's wrong with you, Kita," he said as she poured herself some of the clear liquid into the first thing she could find, which just so happened to be a mason jar.

"That's rich, coming from the guy who talks to aliens and who still thinks that the Roswell incident wasn't just a weather balloon crash," Kita countered.

"I'm telling you, that's real!" Alfred screeched, slamming his palms down on the table hard enough to split it in half. "Oops," he said when it collapsed in a pile of wood fragments and broken china.

Kita looked sadly at the mound of splinters that was once her kitchen table. "I just bought that two months ago from IKEA."

Alfred nudged the remainders of the table with his foot. "Shit, no wonder it broke. IKEA sucks more than Paris Hilton at a penis party."

Meanwhile, down in Stockholm, Berwald sneezed, certain that someone had just slandered the good name of his lucrative ready-to-assemble furniture. Eyes glinting, he took his sword from out of its case and proceeded to sharpen it with a whetstone, ready to cut down any and all denigrators because, hey, it had been a while since he got to go Viking on someone. He was starting to miss the feeling of stabbing throats.

Back in Río, Kita sighed over the mess in her kitchen before snatching up a nearby broom and walloping Alfred over the head with it so hard that it broke in half over his head. Tossing aside the halves, she fixed a dirty look on him. "You owe me a new broom."

"Me?" Alfred demanded incredulously. "You're the one who hit me!"

"Yeah, well, maybe if your head wasn't the result of skull sorcery and cocoanut sperm tossing each other a mercy fuck, the broom wouldn't have broken," Kita countered.

Alfred threw himself back onto the chair, which promptly collapsed beneath him with a sound like the cracking of a gunshot. "What does that even _mean_?" He muttered from his spot atop the pile of broken wood.

"It means that your head can be used in place of dynamite for breaking apart rocks and that you owe me five dollars for a new broom. Oh yeah, and you don't get any ice cream," Kita added.

Alfred's jaw dropped to the floor. "_No ice cream because I accidentally broke a broom?!" _

Kita shook her head. "No, that's not why you don't get any ice cream."

"Then why the hell not?!" Alfred shrieked, doing an incredible imitation of a petulant toddler, red face and all. The only thing that could have made his performance even more realistic was if he were to crap his trousers before going off to sulk in the corner in order to watch Teletubbies.

"Because I don't actually have any ice cream. I just wanted to get your hopes up," Kita said.

For a moment, the kitchen fell into a silence so pregnant that it must've given birth to octuplets before Alfred flopped onto his back, wincing as a particularly large splinter began to make its way into his right buttock. "So, no dessert?"

The response he received was a rough poke delivered by an umbrella. "Not unless you like bread pudding," Kita answered.

"Not really," Alfred said after a moment.

Upon hearing those words, Kita's face twisted into a nightmare-worthy grimace that would've made Hieronymus Bosch shit his britches before adding it into the third section of his _The Garden of Earthly Delights _triptych. "You don't like bread pudding?" Kita asked quietly.

"Uhm…no," Alfred said, the realisation of the colossal shit-storm that was about to be unleashed going ignored in favour of his brain constantly replaying him the image of circus bear with a triangular party hat and a ruffled collar riding around in circles on a unicycle.

Kita smiled serenely at him. "That's cool, I've got brownies in the fridge," she assured him. "Now, go put your things away and Psicó and I will finish preparing lunch."

Psicó looked from her to Alfred. "Just so you know, there's a fifty percent chance that I'll shit in your bowl," he informed Alfred.

"How come I get the shit-encrusted chicken?"

"Because fuck you, that's why. The whole world is my toilet."

"…You're a real asshole, you know that?"

Kita chose that moment to re-enter the conversation, having tired of her imagination spot involving being a spectator at a monkey knife fight and cheering on the man of the match, Furious George. "I once stumbled upon a website itemizing various objects removed from people's anuses at hospitals. One guy stuck a bunch of mercury thermometers up his and died when he sat down and they shattered inside of him and he died from mercury poisoning when it seeped into the cuts. It was awkward," she stated matter-of-factly, as though she were giving a synopsis of the weather.

Alfred blinked once, twice, three times, than cleared his throat, coughing into his hand as he did so. "Wow. Uhm. Yeah. That's pretty awkward." He scratched his head. "Why do people with stuff stuck up their butts always say that they fell on the thing? Like, do they really expect doctors to just accept 'I was hanging up drapes while naked when I slipped and landed asshole-first on a potato' with a smile and a nod? Seriously, what the fuck?"

Having shoved the chicken inside, Kita kicked the oven door shut before turning around to face Alfred. "Well," she said, "would _you _admit to anyone that you just got bored one day and decided to try your hand at inserting a potentially-dangerous foreign object up your stink-hole?"

"Depends on how drunk I am at the time and this conversation is starting to get weird. So, how about them, uh…" Alfred tossed his hands up into the air in frustration. "C'mon, help me out here!"

Kita drummed her fingers against the countertop, looking thoughtful. "Drunken sailors?"

Alfred gaped at her. "What the hell do drunken sailors have to do with anything? Fucking random..."

"They're the dogged few who actually manoeuvre the winding roads and dense forest that serve as natural barriers towards unwanted guests in order to try and tell me this mad thing about how we shouldn't have blood transfusions or salute national flags," Kita explained. "And let me tell you, after fighting their way through all of my booby traps, they do not take 'suck my metaphorically existing balls' for an answer," she added.

"…Those are Jehovah's Witnesses," Alfred said after a moment had passed by. "Not drunk sailors."

In response, Kita shrugged. "Whatever. Point is, I don't know how they always manage to avoid the spike-pit, but the grenade with a wire tied to the pin that's pulled by the turn of the doorknob ought to take care of them."

"By take care of them, you mean blow them to smithereens," Alfred said dully.

"Uh-huh," Kita confirmed. "There's nothing quite like the gentle pitter-patter of chunks of brain matter plopping onto the ground like so many raindrops."

Alfred threw her a sidelong glance. "Are you bigoted towards Jehovah's Witnesses?"

Much to his surprise, Kita actually looked rather chagrined. "What? No! I'm an equal opportunity misanthrope! Don't you remember the time I caved Antonio's skull in when he jumped out to wish me a happy birthday and scared me while I just so happened to be holding a spanner?"

"Haha, yeah, he was like 'Feliz cumple-OW!" and then you had to drive him to the accident and emergency because you ended up giving him a subdural hematoma. Don't you think the grenade thing is kind of extreme, though?" Alfred asked.

Kita stared blankly at him. "No," she said. "You should see what I did to the postman," she added. Her face took on a dreamy expression. "He'll never look at lawn gnomes the same way again."

Alfred sat down on one of the remaining chairs, pleasantly surprised when it didn't collapse under him. "I don't wanna know, do I?" He said.

"Not unless you like stories that end with the words 'and although he survived, he'll never walk again'," Kita said.

"You _crippled _him?" Alfred demanded, looking horrified. "Are you rock-fuck insane?!"

Kita simply threw him a dreamy smile. "Indeed, and I enjoy every minute of it whilst having enough self-awareness to realise just how messed in the head I truly am. By the way, you might want to lock your bedroom door tonight; I'm a sleep-strangler, or so Antonio claims, anyway." Kita continued to smile, giggling to herself at random intervals. Psicó joined in as well, their laughter merging to form an eerie chorus the likes of which one only ever heard in horror movies right before the killer pops out of seemingly nowhere and buries a hatchet into the nerdy guy's skull.

Feeling cold all of a sudden, Alfred wrapped his arms around himself and wondered whether or not it was too late for him to make his way back to the airport and book a flight back to New York.

**A/N: I was sleepy when I wrote this. It's pretty obvious. Mm, Lunesta. **


	2. What happened at that party, anyway?

**Disclaimer: Rada, rada, rada, you know the drill. Commence with the porn! I mean story!**

After a gruelling day in which Kita and her horrible pet mongoose ran him ragged by tag-teaming him with their various mental disorders, Alfred was all too happy to throw himself facedown onto his bed in Kita's guest bedroom. True, he hadn't unpacked his suitcase, brushed his teeth, or even undressed, but he was just too tired to bother to deal with such trivialities as orderliness and hygiene.

Unfortunately for Alfred, however, he also hadn't bothered to flip on the light switch upon entering the room. Hence why, instead of the downy-soft, well-cushioned landing that he was expecting, Alfred instead found himself gracelessly alighting upon what felt like a pile of broken glass. When his screams of pain finally brought Kita ambling up the staircase and down the hall in order to turn the lights on, Alfred saw, much to his consternation, that he'd only been half-right: mixed into the now red-stained glass shards was a tangle of barbed wire and several bent nails that looked as though they were the carriers of a brand-new strain of tetanus.

"What the fucking fuck?!" Was what he shouted at Kita as she stood in the doorway of the bedroom, looking far less shocked than she ought to have. "Why is this shit all over the floor?!"

Silence reigned for a moment. "Just for the record, this is my arts and crafts room. I said for you to go to the room on the second floor, three doors down to your left," Kita elaborated. "This room is only two doors down to your left."

Alfred sat up with a pained grunt. "What kind of head case uses broken glass, barbed wire, and rusty nails as their artistic medium?" He demanded.

Kita raised an eyebrow at him. "How do you keep forgetting that I lost my sanity in a bet with Freddy Krueger?"

"Wait…What?" Alfred said flatly.

Nodding, Kita plunked down on an oversized orange beanbag chair situated near the door. "Yup. I lost it to Freddy Krueger back in 1984 during a dice game. I rolled snake eyes, he invaded my dream about the escalator that's really a giant meat grinder, stole a sock full of marbles and then I torched him with a flamethrower and served him with a nice Chianti. Good times."

Alfred blinked at her. "I…What, I don't even…You know what? Fuck it," he said after a moment of silent deliberating. "The only way that you could get any more fucked in the head is if a vagina were to suddenly appear on your forehead with a welcome rug stapled above it."

Looking very excited all of a sudden, Kita leapt up from the bean bag, accidentally knocking over a potted plant from off of the top of a bureau as she did so. The pot hit the floor with a spine-jarring crash, sending knife-edged fragments of broken terracotta and dirt in every direction. "Holy crap, you read my mind!" She declared excitedly.

"…You were thinking about forehead vaginas?" Alfred asked.

Kita shook her head. "No," she said. "I was thinking about this story I once read where Draco Malfoy got literally skull fucked by his father after he drilled a hole into his skull. I always kinda thought that an elitist pureblood would be into some weird shit beneath their outward façade of hauteur and painstakingly cultivated snobbery. Like," Kita continued, "if I was to actually see a guy with white-blonde hair tied into a ponytail wearing a cloak and carrying a cane, my first thought would be: Oh shit, this guy's a pimp. And then my second thought would be: I bet this guy fucks skulls. He's got the look of a skull-fucker, like he just can't wait to whip out a drill and blow his load all over your braincase. And it's just, you finally realise, that, underneath the affectations and the misguided sense of elitism, stiff old-money blue bloods are just as likely to spend their trust-fund money on hiring leather-wearing dominatrices to whip the piss out of them while they snort cocaine off of a glass table as a nouveau-riche entrepreneur would be, or anyone else, for that matter. Because no matter what your social standing, everyone has a paraphilia. Everyone has a kink. And deep down, once you've managed to get over the shame of the social stigma, everyone just wants to fulfil their fantasies of humbuggery and bumbuggery and get jiggy with some toys and a sheep or two."

Finally finished with her odd little exposition, Kita pulled a paddle ball from out of her pocket and proceeded to slap the attached ball with the paddle several times in succession. On the seventh strike, the string by which the ball was attached lost its elasticity and snapped in two, sending the ball sailing over Alfred's head and into the wall, where it somehow managed to lodge itself into the plaster like a misfired bullet.

"Lucky number seven!" Kita cheered.

Alfred stood up, brushed himself off, and made a bee-line for the door. "Welp, I've had a good run. Time for bed. Maybe I'll wake up and realise that this is all just a cheeseburger-induced nightmare," he muttered to himself.

Kita laughed. "Not fucking likely. This is the real world boyo, no matter how much you may dislike it, and you're gonna help me find that chupacabra. By the way, if you could fill up a plastic grocery sack with some raw meat and then bleed on it for a couple minutes, that'd be fantastic. We need to replicate the scent of a fresh kill in order to lure the chupacabra out, and the petting zoo wouldn't sell me one of their goats, seeing as how I've been banned. Turns out that you're not allowed to train ponies to bite sausages and then set them loose in a changing room."

Stopping at the door, Alfred turned around in order to gift Kita with yet another bewildered expression. "Why do you do these things?" He said desperately. "Why the meat? Why the bleeding? Why the ponies? Why _me_?" Alfred ran his hands through his hair, nearly tearing out a clump of yellow-blonde strands in frustration. "I mean, do you even _listen _to yourself? You talk like the insane scrawling carved into the walls of a padded cell. It's like a rape-octopuses' tentacles popped out of your mouth and started performing rhythmic gymnastics on a keyboard before slaughtering everything within a ten-kilometre radius in a display of grotesque murder-fucking. You can't have always been like this, Antonio would've never survived all of those centuries with you as his colony!" Alfred half-shrieked.

"Actually, Antonio experienced at least thirty-eight clinical deaths while I was in his care," Kita admitted. "Apparently machetes don't make for good haircuts. And for the record, murder-fuck would be an awesome name for a band; I call dibs on it. My first EP will contain the songs 'Murder-fuck (With a Chainsaw), 'Saw You in a Coffee Shop, Strangled You in an Alley', 'Shut the Fuck Up, the Police are Already Dead', 'You're a Cog in the Unfeeling Corporate Machine (That's what you get for going for a liberal arts degree, wank stain), and 'Squeal like a Wage Slave 2: Electric Boogaloo.'"

Alfred stared at her for what seemed like an eternity but was in actuality only a few seconds. (Such is the manner of the void.) Then, he finally asked…. "Can I be the guitarist? That album sounds like it'd be pretty cool, actually."

Kita clapped her hands and smiled with all of the happiness of an antelope who has somehow come into the possession of a pair of night-vision goggles. "Yay, guitarist! We shall play ludicrously complicated yet simultaneously atonal riffs, convoluted detuned bass lines and bang out hideous squeaks and squawks on keyboards that sound like a mountain lion in a box full of broken glass that's just been thrown down a flight of stairs! But first, I have to clean up this mess; my neuroses have been triggered by all of the dirt and ceramic on the floor," Kita said, and, with no further ado, whipped out a remote control from the pocket of her pull-over and pressed the bright red button labelled 'power button ftw.'

Almost immediately, what appeared to be an oversized automatic shower cleaner with training wheels attached to the bottom rolled smoothly into the room and began to spin around like a demented ballerina, spraying a mixture of soapy water and what smelled like Febreze from a length of tubing in a violent spray that knocked items off of shelves, blasted cracks into the plaster and finally culminated in sending Kita flying out of the room in a near-perfect natural rendition of suddenly throwing a car moving at 120 km per hour into reverse.

There was the tortured screech of twisting metal, the xylophone glissando of shattering glass, and the well-timed yowling of an angry cat followed up by Kita's cry of "My creation has turned on me! Such is the cost of my hubris! How did I not see this coming?"

Thinking quickly, Alfred climbed up onto the top of a bookshelf in order to avoid the fresh-scented barrage as the automated menace continued to wreak havoc on the room. "Why would you make a cleaning Dalek? _How _did you make a cleaning Dalek?" He shouted from atop his perch, his shouts quickly turning into shrieks as the malfunctioning automaton spun in his direction and began to spray a stream of air freshener at him. The compressed air quickly became a noxious, choking cloud that smelled of newly laundered linen and fresh cut spring flowers whilst simultaneously containing enough ammonia to sear his eyeballs and burn his lungs, both of which promptly deflated like Pamela Anderson's breasts violently relieved of their implants via a madman's hook-hand.

Coughing, Alfred threw his arms up over his watering eyes in order to shield them from further assault. "How…cough…do you…cough…shut this thing off?!"

Through the blinding miasma of cleaning product, he could vaguely make out Kita's indistinct form pushing through the debris. "A code word! I programmed a code word to initiate a self-destruct sequence!" She screamed.

"Wow, that's…Actually a lot of foresight coming from you. I'm impressed, sis."

"I know, right? I usually never have a contingency plan for when my plans go awry."

"Yeah, I'm really proud of you and-OH GOD, ITS GOT A KNIFE WHY HAS IT GOT A KNIFE?!" Alfred shrieked, his knees drawing up quicker than a man's testicles during a cold winter day. "Quick, say the code word before it stabs me in the shin!"

Kita raised a finger, only to drop her hand back down to her side. "I forgot it," she said simply.

Alfred's eyes bulged from his skull, looking as though they would pop out of their sockets. "You forgot?! How the fuck balls do you forget something like the code word for a rampaging death bot with a rage-boner for Mr. Muscle?!"

Upon hearing his rant, Kita snapped her fingers in realisation. "Oh yeah," she said, looking both relieved and more than a bit annoyed with herself. "_Now _I remember the code word."

"Well, what it is?!" Alfred demanded as the automated cleaner haphazardly swiped at his leg with its knife.

"It's really more of a song, actually," Kita explained, only to be cut off by Alfred.

"Okay, whatever, great! Just sing, damn it!" He shouted.

Kita shrugged, smoothed out her skirt, cleared her throat, and began to sing in a surprisingly clear, if somewhat childish-sounding soprano, which, Alfred was to later reflect, only made the lyrics to come even more jarring.

"There was an old farmer/Who lived on a rock/He sat in the meadow/Just shaking his/Fist at some boys/Who were down by the crick/Their feet in the water/Their hands on their/Marbles and playthings/When at half past four/There came a young lady/She looked like a/Pretty young creature/She sat on the grass/She pulled up her dress/And showed them her/Ruffles and laces/And white fluffy duck/She said she was learning/A new way to/Bring up her children/So they would not spit/While the boys in the barnyard/Were shovelling/Refuse and litter/From yesterday's hunt/While the girl in the meadow/Was rubbing her/Eyes at the fellow/Down by the dock/He looked like a man/With a sizeable/Home in the country/With a big fence out front/And if he asked her politely/She'd show him her/Little pet dog/Who was subject to fits/And maybe she'd let him/Grab hold of her/Small tender hand/With a movement so quick/And then she'd bend over/And suck on his/Candy, so tasty/Made of butterscotch/And then he'd spread whipped cream/All over her/Cookies that she had/Left out on her shelf/If you think this is dirty/You can go fuck yourself!"

Alfred blinked. The cleaner-bot dropped the knife from its hose-hand, sputtered like a dying engine, sparked up like a match book, and finally exploded in a fiery blast worthy of Bruce Willis himself, sending bits of flaming plastic like shrapnel in every direction and leaking cleaning product all over the carpeting in lieu of blood.

"I really should've chosen a shorter self-destruct code," Kita, who was drenched in Febreze, said after a long moment of awkward silence.

Meanwhile, Alfred, who was also soaked to the bone in the dying-moments ejaculate of the cleaner-bot, gingerly made his way down from the top of the bookcase only to grab Kita by the shoulders and look her firmly in the eye in a rare and surprising display of elder authority.

"How did you make that thing?" He asked.

"I got the instructions off of the Internet," Kita admitted, refusing to make eye contact with him.

Alfred nodded. "Okay. That sounds legit. And what did you learn from this experience?"

"To program a shorter self-destruct sequence?" Kita said hopefully, and gave her best puppy-dog eyes look. Unfortunately for her, Alfred simply refused to meet her gaze until her eyes began to water from the strain of keeping them comically oversized and shimmery and she was forced to revert to her normal, less cartoonish default expression.

"No," Alfred said firmly. "Try again."

"To not make possibly destructive robots for shits and giggles, a.k.a. shiggles?" Kita sighed.

"Exactly. And to really hammer this lesson home, I'm cutting off your Internet connection for the next month," Alfred added.

Kita's eyes widened to the size of saucers, giving her the look of a particularly crazed crack addict. "But…No…You can't!" She cried, and began to flail her arms around in what looked like a sad facsimile of flying.

The lenses of his glasses shining in a move worthy of Gendo Ikari, Alfred smirked at her. "Actually," he said, drawing out every syllable of the word, "I can, seeing as how I'm oh, you know, _your legal guardian._" A silence so permeating that the dropping of a pin could be heard reigned throughout the room for a time, and then…

"Lie! YOU LIE!" Kita screeched.

Grinning a shit-eating grin the likes of which have only been seen on the leering faces of politicians as they vie for our votes when they stand for election, Alfred pulled out his own remote control, the button-pressing of which caused a high-tech television screen to lower itself from the ceiling, the edge hitting Kita on the head as it came down, knocking her onto the floor.

Still grinning, Alfred clicked the remote once again, causing the screen to flicker to life, bringing forth the oh-so-lovely hissing and spitting of static. Glaring, Alfred smacked the monitor, which upon becoming acquainted with his pimp-hand cleared itself of the silently shrieking black-and-white snow in order to show the image of times long past, which just so happened to contain a younger-looking Kita wearing a stupidly frilly pink dress and matching bonnet, swathed in so much lace and ribbons that she looked as though the slightest movement would cause her to tip over, an extremely beat-up Antonio sporting a black eye and a missing tooth leaning heavily on a pair of crutches, and a proud-looking Alfred clad in a bowler hat and a lounge suit and holding out a piece of parchment that rolled all the way down onto the ground.

"So," T.V.-Alfred said, "you've already ceded the Philippines and Guam to me. All you owe me now is this little island over here and you're free to go without me kicking your ass even more. Be warned, try anything funny, and I'll kick your ass some more. Do we have a deal?"

T.V.-Spain bit into a handkerchief, looking pained. "But….Kita's only a little girl! She needs her papi!"

T.V.-Alfred raised his eyebrows. "Do you need your, uh, papi, Kita?" He asked.

T.V.-Kita, who hadn't been paying a lick of attention in favour of staring out at the ocean, blinked suddenly and looked up at him. "Huh? You mean this vagina-twat?" She asked, jerking her thumb at T.V.-Antonio, who cringed at her overuse of female reproductive organs in order to describe him.

"Heheh, vagina-twat," T.V.-Alfred snickered. "Yeah, so, do you need him or are you good to-

"Meh, fuck him," T.V.-Kita said flippantly. "I'm the national equivalent of a teenager; parental authority is something I'm glad to be shot of."

"Well, you heard her," T.V.-Alfred declared. "You're parenting days are over. Go…get yourself a puppy, or something," he said to the now crying T.V.-Antonio, who then proceeded to lose his grip on his crutches and flop onto the ground with a painful-looking thud. Turning to T.V.-Kita, he said, "So, I'm Alfred F. Jones, your new legal guardian. Yep."

"Wait, what?" T.V.-Kita said. "I thought you said I was free! You lied to me! YOU LIIIIIIIIIIED!"

The television screen faded to black and retracted into the ceiling with another press of the button, and Alfred turned to Kita, who was looking at him with an uncomprehending gaze.

"So…" Alfred began.

"_How _did you tape that? It wasn't even the nineteenth century yet. Are you a time lord? Because if you are, I demand weeping angels and wacky time-dilation shenanigans, damn it!"

Alfred waved his hand. "Details, details," he said dismissively. "Point is, I'm your legal guardian, so I can cut off your Internet as I see fit."

Kita regarded him silently for a moment, and then, to his surprise, began to back out of the room while letting out the occasional chuckle. "Ohho, I see how it is," she muttered. "You may have won this round, Alfred, but mark my words: Your victory is pyrrhic. And you know why? Because although you may be my guardian, you miscalculated one thing: That means that you have to deal with me…_Forever._ Remember that," she murmured. The door clicked shut, only for it to creak open once again, and Kita's head appeared from around the corner. "Remember it!" She shrieked before slamming the door shut so forcefully that the wall shook.

"…I know that I should feel something right now. A sense of pathos, or a realisation of my own hamartia, or some Greek-y philosophical concept/literary term, but all I can think is, 'what's on T.V. right now?' Damn. Forget money, cable television is the root of all evil," Alfred mumbled.

XXX

His self-exploration (not like that-there was no lotion or tissues to be found) over, Alfred had made his way into the actual guest bedroom and fallen asleep before his head hit the pillow. His sleep had lasted for less than four hours before he was abruptly woken up by what sounded like the rolling of a thousand combined thunderclaps ringing in his ears. Upon opening his eyes and sitting up in bewildered terror at what he thought was the end of the world, or at the very least a typhoon, Alfred saw, much to his annoyance, that it was just Kita, standing beside the bed and slamming two trash can lids together with all of the dead-eyed enjoyment of a cymbal monkey while clad in her military uniform. Combined with the moonlight filtering in through the curtains and highlighting her pale skin and war paint, she looked oddly menacing even taking into account the fact that her uniform looked as though she were cosplaying a cameo version of Yoko Littner's post time-skip 'outfit' (Alfred truly regretted losing that bet to Kiku back in 1958…)

"Before you ask, yes, this is revenge for cutting off my internet. Thank you, fuck you, now get your ass up, we've got a chupacabra to catch," she informed him in a flat monotone. "Wear something absorbent, I don't want to have to smell your fear-urine when it goes for your face-meat."

Grumbling under his breath, Alfred shoved his spectacles onto his face in order to better glare at her. "Yeah, well, what if I don't wanna join your creepy cryptid catching?" He demanded.

Kita grinned and thumbed her nose at him. "Bonus points for alliteration, I'll give you that. And if you don't want to join the hunt as my partner in crime, you'll serve as another, equally important asset to the mission: bait. So, how's your health plan? You're gonna be wanting a good one once this is over," she said casually.

"You're a terrible person, you know that, right?" Alfred muttered as he began to tug on his trousers.

In response, Kita shrugged. "You're the sixth one to say that. My apathy towards your dissertation of my supposed terribleness is so great that on the other side of the planet, a kid with dyed hair combed over half of his face and an Invader Zim t-shirt has just achieved an erection and has no idea why." Her face split into a lopsided, slightly dimpled grin that looked decidedly incongruous with her glinting yellow eyes. "Besides, you know that you owe me for that fiasco at last year's Christmas party, otherwise you would've been on a flight to New York faster than I could say 'Normal Rockwell is Bleeding.' I'm not the only terrible person in this room, just the one who's forthright about it."

"True," Alfred admitted grudgingly as he fumbled with the laces of his boots. "And I thought we agreed to never mention that day?" He added.

"Fine with me," Kita said dismissively. "I have plenty of pictures anyway."

Alfred dropped his jacket onto the floor, his hands numbed from the revelation that photographs of his greatest shame existed. "You…You're fucking with me. You have to be. There's no way…You couldn't have…"

"No. One, that'd be creepy as all hell, and two, if you fuck like you watch horror movies, you'll only get half-way in before you start crying," Kita said.

Ignoring the jibe at his supposed lack of sexual prowess, Alfred leapt to his feet and affixed her with a threatening glower. "Burn those photos. _Now._"

Kita snorted. "Or what? You'll release the hounds on me? Or the killer bees? Or the hounds with killer bees in their mouths and whenever they bark they shoot bees at me? Hah! Do your worst, bee-boy!"

"Actually," Alfred drawled, "I have something much worse in store for you."

"Oh, this ought to be good-

"I'll sell you to Govert. Not your land; _you. _Your physical body. Your young, nubile, _eternally teenage_ body. I will ship you over to Amsterdam in a crate dressed in a boarding school uniform, with a note attached to the lid that reads 'Official re-enactment of the 1625 Battle of San Juan in which you get to conquer the island…With your penis. Enjoy your Bonita Lolita. P.S. Vital regions are still intact.' And I will leave you with him. Forever."

Alfred raised his eyebrows at Kita, as though daring her to question the authenticity of his threat. To his delight, she actually looked somewhat unnerved. "You wouldn't," she whispered hollowly.

"…Okay, I wouldn't," Alfred conceded after a few seconds. "But I _will _make you give him a lap dance in front of the Empire State building during Queen's Day next year!"

"But…that's from 30 April to 2 May."

"Exactly!"

"…Well played, brother dear. Well played indeed." Kita clapped her hands together in a slow, rhythmic, villain-esque show of mocking praise. "Very well, the photos shall be incinerated…As soon as we capture that goddam chupacabra. But only then."

"Fine," Alfred said shortly. "Should we shake on it to seal the deal?" He suggested even as he extended his hand towards her.

Kita grimaced but grasped his hand in her own. "I'm glad that we've managed to come to an agreement," she said smoothly.

Alfred smile. "Definitely."

Neither of them was aware that the other had the fingers of their unused hand crossed behind their backs, oblivious of the treachery that was to come. Isn't family great?


	3. Dysfunction Junction (Omake)

**Disclaimer: Because sometimes, you just want to revenge-fuck someone's corpse so violently that their ghost will have a baby. A baby named VENGEANCE. Also, this chapter is an 'extra'/intermission story. There will probably be a lot of these. **

It was a regular, run-of-the-mill day at the Hall of Justice, I mean Nations' Meeting.

Alfred was having his balls busted by Yao, who was about to use the back of Alfred's head to strengthen his pimp hand if Alfred didn't pony up the money that he owed him.

Matthew was silently watching his brother be berated by the rather feminine-looking nation with a look that could only be aptly described as silently sadistic (after all of the bullshit he'd gone through due to Alfred, he felt that a bit of gloating was in order.)

Arthur was busy fighting off Francis' advances with an Encyclopaedia, which oddly enough was flipped open to the definition of the word 'denial'.

Francis was busy feeling up Arthur's arse and dodging haphazard swings while thoroughly enjoying every moment that his fingers were able to squeeze the Brit's buttocks.

Kiku was doing his best to ignore the ruckus by covertly watching soft-core pornography on his laptop and muffling the moans of the lesbians spread-eagled on the monitor with a pair of oversized headphones.

Feliciano was eating a plate of lasagne whilst sitting directly beneath the 'no food or beverages' sign and wiping his mouth with what he thought was a napkin but was in actuality Lovino's tie.

Lovino was doing the breathing exercises that his therapist had taught him and getting increasingly angry over the fact that it wasn't working.

Ivan eagerly watched Arthur and Francis' battle in the hopes that it would escalate into cartoonish slap-stick violence.

And Ludwig…Was not shouldering the burden of shutting everyone the hell up and whipping them into something vaguely resembling competency (a monumental task, to be sure.) Wait, what?

And then, out of the blue, Ludwig began to rake his hands through his painstakingly coiffed hair, thoroughly mussing up the slicked back platinum strands. "If Gilbert doesn't get his own place soon, I cannot be held responsible for what I will do. And I think it will involve prurient use of garden shears, so it will be pretty bad," he announced to the room of bickering nations, whom upon hearing this out of left lane statement fell silent.

"So," Alfred said after a minute had passed, "will it be, like, Buffalo Bill mangina dance bad or what?"

Ludwig paused to consider. "…Yes." A collective shudder passed throughout the room.

"It's just," he continued, "he lives in my cellar, free of rent. Okay, that's fine. Not ideal, but fine. But," Ludwig said, and here his voice began to take on a slightly hysterical edge, "the messes that he leaves. _The messes. _Old newspaper clippings, bird feathers, mud tracks, and I'm not even going to mention the other liquid…All over the floor! There are more socks underneath his bed than there are in his bureau, and you can guess exactly what they're being used for. And the laughing, day in and day out while he looks over his old diaries and photo albums. And then, before I know it, it's four o' clock in the morning and I'm hearing bed springs creaking like an old man's kneecaps, even though I KNOW that there's no one else in there with him, coupled with strangled cries of Li-

At that moment, Ludwig's ranting about his brother was cut short by the timely arrival of Gilbert himself, whom rushed out from the bathroom with his trousers unzipped and a piece of toilet paper trailing from his right shoe in order to slap a hand around his mouth.

"Finish that sentence and I'll cut out your vocal chords with a butter knife and shove them down the garbage disposal," he hissed.

Upon catching everyone's eyes trained on him, Gilbert's left eye began to tick like a time bomb. "The fuck are you all looking at?!" He snarled before turning his glare onto Ludwig, whom he still had a firm grip on. "And what, you think it's easy living with your anal retentive self? You're so neurotic you make Woody fucking Allen look like the Buddha in comparison! Always ironing your underwear and folding your socks and attacking the grout with a toothbrush and limiting the beer money…You're one giant conglomeration of neuroses and hair gel wrapped up in a nice suit!"

Emma giggled. "That sounds like Govert, only he's too cheap to buy a nice suit."

"Shut your chocolate-hole, zus," her older brother grunted, not even bothering to look up from his HEMA catalogue. "Don't you have some waffles to make or something?" He added.

"Don't you have a high school to scope out your next jail bait statutory rape date at?" Emma countered.

"…Are these fuckers _rapping _now?" Lovino, who hadn't been paying attention until he heard Emma's oddly rhymed insult, said. His face turned thoughtful. "Chocolate hole sounds kind of…weird, now that I think about it," he added.

Feliciano, whose mouth was ringed with tomato sauce, turned to look at his brother. "Why does it sound weird?" He asked innocently.

Lovino's face flushed bright red, although before Antonio could comment on it, Lovino offhandedly threw out his fist and caught his annoying semi-sibling in the face when he snuck up on him for a surprise-hug. "I'll tell you when you're older," Lovino said quickly.

"Ve, but I'm centuries old already! Can't you tell me now?" Feliciano pleaded.

"Uh…it's…er…"

"It's because it sounds like a slang term for someone's butthole," Matthias answered cheerfully, oblivious to the look of murderous disgust that Lukas was shooting him. "Speaking of which," he went on, "don't shut your chocolate-hole just yet, Emma, I have a friend who wants to visit it. You might know him, he's my-

There was a flurry of movement, the sound of a desk being overturned, and within a nano-second Govert had his arms in a death-lock around Matthias' neck. "Finish that sentence and I'll rip your head off and piss down the stump," he growled.

"Gack," was all Matthias managed to gurgle out through the pressure being exerted on his windpipe. Rolling his eyes, Govert loosened his grip just enough for Matthias to gasp "I thought we were bros!"

"Not when you're trying to bugger my sister; shit gets real, then," Govert replied tonelessly. Almost as an afterthought, he dropped his hold on Matthias only to throw a Rob Kaman-esque punch that everyone in the room could've sworn lit on fire before it connected with Matthias' head and knocked two years of memories from his brain.

Sprawled out over a desk, Matthias grinned up at Govert through the blood trickling from the gash across his forehead and staining his teeth. "Nice one."

"Thanks."

"How's the cut look?"

"Like a knuckle-beaten vagina."

"Hah! I didn't know your mom was in town; I'd have brought condoms."

"Hn. You talk good shit for a guy whose forehead is having a period. Cover that thing with some panties or something."

"I'm gonna get your ass back for this next month."

"I know."

Their interaction done, Govert hauled Matthias to his feet and the two of them fist-bumped, apparently having fulfilled some obscure bro code ritual.

"Oh brother," Emma said with a roll of her eyes as her brother took his seat beside her and once again began to scan the catalogue for retail prices.

Meanwhile, Matthias was busy recounting the tale to Lukas and Emil, despite them having seen the brief altercation with their own eyes. And even if they hadn't, they wouldn't have given a single fuck; such was the manner of the two, although Emil would never admit it.

"And that's what happened!" Matthias finished, looking expectantly at the two. "So, pretty cool, huh?"

"No," Lukas deadpanned.

"You talk like you just let your brain shit through your mouth," Emil added.

"Actually, he sounds more like the result of giving monkeys access to type writers and copious amounts of cocaine," Lukas amended.

Emil shrugged. "More like a hollowed out cadaver being drink-driven by aliens."

Matthias blinked at this onslaught of sibling cruelty. "Man, you guys are even more alike than I thought; you're both bigger assholes than ."

"Fine words coming from a man whose forehead has conjured up the image of a vagina like a cheese toasty does the Virgin Mary," Lukas said whilst at the same time Emil spat "We are NOT that alike!"

Lukas turned a dull navy gaze on the youngest Nordic. "Oh yes we are."

"No we're not!"

"Yes we are."

"Not!"

"Are."

"Not!"

"Denial is a river Egypt, little brother."

"Yeah well…bullshit is…what comes out of your mouth…"

"Not your best counter, there."

"Yeah, I'm kind of off the ball today."

"Aha, you just agreed with me. We _are _alike."

"What the…That's troll logic!"

"The only troll logic here is coming from the troll standing beside me right now. He says to hug you."

"You're insane. And no hugging."

"You're _both _weirdos," Matthias supplied helpfully. Instantly, the two turned on him.

"Better weird than an alcoholic lout."

"Your hair makes you look like a lesbian Lisa Simpson."

Matthias turned away from them, folding his arms across his chest. "You guys are jerks."

Before anymore sibling arguments could take place, there was a disturbance in the force, I mean a well-timed interruption.

"Jesus is NOT the original hipster! Everyone knows that that was Thomas; he doubted before it was cool!" A girlish voice echoed throughout the room from seemingly nowhere. Everyone immediately stopped arguing in order to look around in confusion.

"I-I think it's coming from the ceiling," whispered Emma.

"…God?" Gilbert asked uncertainly, staring up at the ceiling.

"Haha, yeah right. If I was God, I'd have replaced humanity with robots by now. Wait, wait, no…Mongolian death worms."

Antonio pulled himself to the sleep and rolled his eyes upward as well. "Wait a minute…Kita! What are you doing in the ceiling?"

Alfred groaned and slapped himself in the forehead. "Damn it Kita, how'd you get in there?"

"Well," Kita began, "first of all, I'm in the air vent, not the ceiling. And secondly, I was practicing my zombie survival skills."

Hearing this admission, Alfred shrugged. "Eh, I'll give it to her, that's pretty pro-active," he conceded.

"No it isn't!" The usually easy-going Antonio snapped. "She's stuck in an air vent, for Christ's sake! Don't worry mi Isla Chiquita, papi will get you out…Somehow…" He promised.

There was a bang and a large dent appeared in the side of the air vent. "No, it's cool, I'll get myself out," Kita called down. This assurance was followed up by the screech of twisting metal as, to everyone present's surprise, the dented side of the vent came apart like a piece of paper, revealing…

"Either I'm having the world's most bizarre wet dream right now, or that's an ass wearing a pair of hot pants," Matthias observed.

"No, it definitely is. A very nice one, at that," Francis noted, and received a slap to the back of the neck by Arthur for his comment. "See, this is why we can't have nice things!" Francis whined.

Alfred shook his head while Antonio began to weep over his little girl's air vent strolling. "Only Kita would come out of an air vent ass first," Alfred muttered. To everyone else, he declared "I win; my family is the weirdest of all."

"It's not a contest, jackass, but if it was, you'd win the grand prize for the asshole category. You're such an irritating douche that you cause every vagina in your immediate vicinity to suffer a disrupted pH balance," Matthew told him.

Alfred started in surprise. "Whoa, Matt, when did you get here?!"

Matthew let out a heavy sigh and banged his head against his desk while seriously considering abandoning his life and spending the rest of his years on a barge. Months later, he would realise that he could've put his powers of invisibility to good use and kicked Alfred in the crackerjacks, shaved Ludwig's head, pantsed Arthur, and culminated his mischief by dropping his trousers and taking a shit in the aisles between the tables and gone completely unnoticed, like a boss.

"Up yours Alfred, I don't have a cho-Bwah!" Kita shrieked as she tumbled out of the broken air vent and plummeted five meters down to what would most certainly be a trip to the accident and emergency.

While everyone looked up at her graceless descent, Kita somehow twisted in mid-air in order to angle herself to land in a manner that wouldn't involve her getting a face full of the floor. All would have gone smoothly had it not been for the fact that she was still free-falling directly in the path of Kiku's head.

Hearing several people shouting his name, Kiku pulled off his headphones in order to throw them a mildly annoyed glare. "Yes?" He sighed.

"You're about to become the landing strip for a teenage girl about to fall on you either arse or tit-first," Arthur explained. "You might want to duck, unless you want to have something broken."

Kiku raised his eyebrows. "Why would I want to duck such a rare occurrence?"

"He's got a point there," Govert said. "My dreams involve the sky raining teens."

"Pervert," Arthur muttered.

"Well, it _is _a once in a lifetime event," Francis pointed out as Antonio's face contorted into an expression reminiscent of Edward Munch's _The Scream_ as he was forced to listen to older men discuss his teenaged daughter.

Before anything else could be said, Kita crash-landed directly on Kiku, a fact which wasn't much negated by the fact that she was somewhat shorter and lighter than him, seeing as how she landed directly on his face.

"Aw man," Yong-Soo sighed when he saw that Kiku was currently being suffocated between a pair of grapefruit-sized breasts. "You have all the luck! I wanna be squished by boobs too!"

"Not quite," Kiku said in a muffled voice as he pulled himself from the confines of Kita's chest. "They're a bit… sweaty."

Kita laughed. "That's not sweat, that's baby oil," she said.

Alfred stared at her. "Why are you covered in baby oil? Do I even want to know?"

"I was going to work on my tan today, seeing as how I've gotten pale as a ghost over the months and a certain someone keeps making jokes at my expense, but I couldn't find any sun tan lotion. So, I did it the old-fashioned, possibly dangerous way," Kita explained.

"Then," Antonio asked with a scratch of his head, "If you were tanning, how'd that segue into zombie survival training?"

"Shit, why wouldn't it?" Kita demanded. She sat down besides Kiku, who went wide-eyed with embarrassment and attempted to hide the pornography still playing on his laptop with his hands.. "They're…Just naked and snogging," Kita said disappointedly. "Where's the fisting? This had better lead to fisting!"

Everyone's collective jaws dropped at her outburst.

"Ohonhonhon, it sounds like someone is into the kinkier aspects of adult entertainment, non?" Francis chuckled.

Kita got up from her seat and stretched. "Not really," she said. "I just wanted to weird all of you out. Did it work?" She asked excitedly.

There was silence for a moment, and then-

"Does a boner count?" Matthias asked. "Cause if it does, than yeah, I'm weirded out."

"Count me in, then," Govert said.

"I will not publicly admit my shame," Kiku muttered.

"Same here," all of the other men present besides Alfred and Antonio said.

Kita visibly deflated. "Not the reaction I was hoping for," she murmured. "Far from it, in fact." Shaking her head, she pushed her chair in and strolled out the door. "I'll be back in a few hours. I need to go scrub myself with some steel wool and scalding hot water," she called as she ambled down the hall.

"That girl is rather…Stranger than I remember," Arthur said tactfully.

Alfred waved away his attempts at discretion. "Eh, you just didn't notice in the past because she was a little kid. Kita just gets weirder with age. I once found her taking pictures of naked Barbie and Ken dolls. When I asked why, she said that she was trying to get into the mind of a serial killer. Personally, I think she likes to act crazier than she really is just to keep me on my toes."

"She never did that to _me_," Antonio argued.

"No, she just out and attacks you whenever you get too touchy-feely," Lovino said with a roll of his eyes.

"Well, yes," Antonio floundered. "But all of my former colonies do that, including you!"

Lovino leaned back in his seat. "Yeah," he said, "but I've never tried to run you over with a souped-up lawn mower while shouting 'I will use your shredded remains to mulch my garden and your skull as a decorative bird house'."

"That was…A special case…" Antonio mumbled.

"Riiiiight…" Arthur said flatly. "You," he directed at Alfred, "might want to take her to get examined. Prescribed medications. Something."

Alfred waved his hand. "Eh, it's-

"I return, the opposite of victorious and covered in what I hope is just silt," Kita, who had arrived back in the room and whom was covered in a reddish-brown liquid announced. She began to walk towards everyone, who shrank away from her as her trainers squelched wetly against the tiles and she dripped a path of what they hoped was just suspiciously watery and red-toned mud like a snail's slime trail.

"Please tell me you didn't explode a rat again," Antonio whimpered, scooting his chair away from her.

Stretching out a soaked arm, Kita narrowed her eyes thoughtfully as she stared at the film of brown liquid covering her. "No, this is dirty water. The shower made a screechy sound when I turned the tap and I guess the pipes must've been rusty because now I smell like the inside of a dumpster full of used tampons," she said sadly.

Ludwig, who was pinching his nose against the coppery stench emanating from her, pointed towards the door. "Go swim around in the toilet until you smell better," he ordered.

"But…Then I'll smell like the toilet…"

"Exactly," Ludwig said. "Don't forget the hall pass."

Kita shook her hair out, sending a miniature cascade of rust-riddled water at Matthew, who instinctively lifted up Kumajiro as a shield. "Sorry Kumadillo," Matthew apologized.

"Who're you?"

"…Never mind, I'm not sorry anymore."

"We have hall passes now?" Kita asked.

"Ja," Ludwig said, snapping a blinking collar around her neck. "If you leave the building, the collar will explode," he informed her.

"Oh, okay…Wait a minute…"

"Isn't that a little extreme?" Antonio frowned.

"The last time someone left for the bathroom, we wound up owing the state of California ten million U.S. dollars in collateral damage," Ludwig deadpanned.

"I said I was sorry!" Feliciano cried. "You know that I drive with my eyes closed!"

"We had several sexual harassment charges levelled against us that we had to take to court," Ludwig continued, ignoring his friend.

"I'm still not apologizing for that," Francis said.

"Dozens of noise complaints," Ludwig said loudly.

"Huh? Did you say something?" Yong-Soo, who had four surround-sound speakers placed around him in a semi-circle and blaring Gangnam Style, shouted.

"Roderich got lost for three days in the woods, along with the money that was to pay for our amenities, hence why we were all forced to pool our resources and take shelter at the dubious establishment known as 'Crazy Cousin Vinny's Love Motel," Ludwig added. "We were mistaken for the world's most diverse orgy." His eyes scanned the room, quickly glancing over everyone's faces in order to account for them, and he noticed, much to his weariness, that the aforementioned man was in fact not present.

"And apparently he's gotten lost again. Someone needs to buy him a homing pigeon or something…" Ludwig cleared his throat. "The point is we can't afford to have any more lawsuits levelled against us, not unless we're ready to start selling our organs to cover the costs. Any questions?" he finished in the sort of tone that implies that no, you should not have any questions, so just sit back and shut up.

Kita raised her hand. "Do I still have to swim in the toilet?"

"Yes," Ludwig said firmly.

"Ragumfraggumshrubfuckers," Kita muttered under her breath as she stomped out of the room.

Meanwhile, Roderich was trapped in a black-and-white comic book world while a catchy song played in the background and he was flirted with by a leather jacket-wearing bad boy. "What…But…I was just trying to buy milk!" He cried as they were suddenly beset by a group of pipe-wielding gangsters.

Stumbling over a loose rock, Roderich felt a strange pulling sensation behind his navel followed up by a powerful buffet, and the world dissolved into a myriad of spinning jewel tones like the inside of a kaleidoscope before he found himself unceremoniously thrust back into the real world, which just so happened to be directly at Gilbert's feet.

"That's right Roder-_bitch_, lick my boots and then work your way up," Gilbert cackled, only to be stopped short by Elizabeta's skillet making contact with his skull.

"Roderich, where were you?" Elizabeta asked worriedly. "You were gone for almost an hour!"

"I'm…not…sure," Roderich replied slowly. "If I'm not mistaken, I was trapped inside of a-ha's Take on Me music video."

Gilbert and Elizabeta looked at one another, and then turned their confused gazes on Roderich, who squirmed. "I'm telling the truth!" He insisted.

"I believe-Elizabeta began.

"That you've been puffing stuff," Gilbert finished.

"I do not smoke marijuana!" Roderich said loudly, causing everyone's eyes to swing towards him as though their eyes were barbells and he had been magnetised.

"…Congratulations," Ludwig said in a monotone. "Keep up the good work."

"That little story of yours sounded more like a bad acid trip, anyway," Gilbert said.

Ludwig sighed. "We're not going to be getting anything done today, are we?"

"Probably not," Kiku agreed.

"Do we ever?" Feliciano asked, genuinely curious.

Ludwig stroked his jaw in thought. "No," he said after a moment. "No, we do not."

Alfred began to wave his hand wildly through the air, nearly knocking Arthur unconscious, who in retaliation picked up a paperweight and began to bludgeon him with it. "Does this mean we can leave?" He asked hopefully, unaware that Arthur was trying to give him a skull fracture.

Ludwig paused. "Would that make you happy?"

"Yes!" Everyone declared in unison.

"Well then, in that case…No," Ludwig said simply. "Everyone take out a sheet of paper and get ready to take notes on this PSA about teen pregnancies."

"What the fuck why?!" Alfred shouted furiously.

Ludwig shrugged. "Schadenfreude. It makes me feel…Tingly," he explained.

"…You've really got to get laid," Gilbert informed his brother.

"Just for that comment, we're watching the PSA with the dodgy puppets singing about STIs as well," Ludwig informed him.

"Dammit!"

"Complain all you want," Ludwig said boredly as the lights dimmed and the projector screen began to lower itself from the ceiling.

"I will! And I'll keep doing it during the plane ride home, and during dinner, too! You'll never hear the end of it from me!" Gilbert yelled.

Elizabeta sighed at her not-quite-boyfriend's childish behaviour. "Can't you just watch the film along with the rest of us?" She said tiredly.

Gilbert crossed his arms. "But I already know about STIs! Hell, I've seen this PSA like a million times. There's only so many times I can look at a guy's syphilitic cock looking like a blight-infested tree branch and not wanna be sick all over something…Preferably Roddy's shoes."

"These shoes are worth more than your entire wardrobe. Vomit on them and-

"You'll what? Play me a pretty song on the piano?" Gilbert snorted. "And your cheap self probably bought those from the bargain bin of some crappy little shop anyway."

"You think Roderich's cheap?" Emma piped up. "My brother gave me a frog-shaped alarm clock for Christmas!"

"What's so bad about that?" Govert demanded.

"I gave it to you for your birthday a year before that!" Emma snapped.

"Hm, I _thought _it looked familiar."

"Meh, it's better than what Luddy gave me for Christmas," Gilbert volunteered. "I got a package of underwear."

Ludwig paused in his losing battle with the projector in order to retort with "That's because you gave me a card that said 'Merry Christmas, because you're my relative and therefore I have no choice. Enjoy your shitty candle (scented is too expensive.)'"

Gilbert jumped up from his chair in indignation. "Oh, come on, it was from Hallmark's new social pressures line!"

"Yes, but I received no candle, shitty or otherwise."

Gilbert sat down, comprehension dawning on his face. "Is…Are you torturing all with these PSAs because I gave you a lame Christmas present?" He asked, looking stunned.

"…Maybe," was all Ludwig said before giving the projector a good swift kick, which for reasons unknown caused it to burst into flame.

"Sooooo…Guess we're not watching any lame-o PSAs today, eh, little brother?" Gilbert said, smirking.

"Wait, we're watching PSAs? Fuck that, I'm gonna go swim around in the toilet for the rest of the meeting," Kita, who had arrived yet again, this time with plungers tied to her hands and feet, said.

Ludwig pinched the bridge of his nose. "Enough with the rebellion, damn it! Gilbert, sit down and be quiet. Kita, remove those plungers from your person. Both of you do this within the next ten seconds or else you get the dunce cap and the corner of shame, respectively."

"You can't boss me around, I'm the older brother!" Gilbert shouted while at the same time Kita used the plungers as impromptu suction cups to manoeuvre her way up the wall.

"You'll never catch me so long as I'm wearing these primary colours!" She stated as she painstakingly made her way up the wall at roughly the pace of treacle in an igloo.

"Someone, translate that into sane for me," Ludwig commanded.

Alfred shrugged. "Search me. I'm pretty sure that it means exactly what she meant it to mean."

Ludwig sighed. "Why did I get out of bed this morning?" He muttered. "And you're not going anywhere, you've only managed to get three feet up the wall," he told Kita, who promptly lost her grip on her plungers and fell down. Before she could cause further annoyance, she was picked up by the back of her shirt by Alfred and hauled away to a nearby seat.

"Help! I'm being repressed! Land of the free my ass!"

"You're grounded, you know," Alfred said casually.

Kita shrugged. "I figured as much. So, what's my accompanying punishment? Pulling up weeds? Teaching crafts to the elderly? Squeezing warm snot out of one of a fat lady's six penises, a.k.a. milking a cow on grandad's farm?"

"Nah," Alfred said. "Even better-You get to keep Govert company!"

Kita's eyes widened. "No! Not the United Provinces lolicon pervert!" She cried. "Have mercy! You know 1625 irrevocably damaged me! Wanna see my emotional scars?"

Alfred grinned mischievously at her. "Should've thought of that before you decided to go all Spider-girl on us," he said as he dumped her into the chair beside Govert…Upside down.

"Hallo, meisje," a familiar baritone said from her right.

"ARGH! I mean…ARGH-lo!" Kita said.

Matthew frowned when he saw the frozen expression on Kita's face and the predatory expression on Govert's. "Are you sure that's…Safe?" He asked hesitantly.

Alfred grinned and folded his arms behind his head. "It'll work out fine. Look," he added, nodding in the direction of Antonio, who was obviously having a flashback and was running in Govert and Kita's direction.

"Away from my daughter, virginity-plundering fiend!" Antonio cried throwing himself at the much taller nation. Govert, in return, didn't even bother to look in the Spaniard's direction, instead merely planting a hand into Antonio's face in an offhand manner and keeping him safely out of range as he flailed his fists in impotent rage.

"Hah, it's like something out of a cartoon," Alfred laughed.

Now sitting right side-up in her chair, Kita threw Antonio a look of mingled pity and annoyance. "Fuck my life."

"So, you want to-Govert began, only to be cut short by Kita holding up a hand.

"Finish that sentence and I'll shove a pen down your piss-hole," she said blankly.

"…Sounds kinky."

Kita gaped at him. Antonio dropped his head into his hands and began to weep. Govert popped a piece of Dubbel Zout into his mouth and inwardly laughed at their discomfort while Emma looked on disapprovingly in the background.

And through it all, the now-smouldering projector somehow kickstarted, giving all of the assembled people the cheerfully delivered message of 'Don't be silly, wrap your willy!' Truly wisdom to last throughout the ages.

**A/N: This may or may not be partially based on a story my brother told me about his secondary school sex education class…**


End file.
